A bumpy arrival

I'll admit, I'm kind of a mess. In the past two weeks, I have slept in nine beds and been in eight different airports. As I was landing in Berlin, my eyes were burning in protest to being open, my stomach was screaming at me and my internal clock was spinning.

When you move to another country, especially one where another language is spoken, nothing seems easy, even things that are easy. (I say move, because being a tourist is an entirely different feeling.) For example, finding my apartment seemed like it shouldn't be a problem, but it was. That is, of course, my fault. I told the woman I'm renting the room from that I was arriving Aug. 4. Nope. I looked at my itinerary (which is in plain English by the way) and gave her the wrong date. It just so happens, that she was to be on vacation and was having her daughter meet me. I realized the error a few days before my departure, but it was too late to reach her by e-mail.

So I came anyway, hoping she would be staying at the apartment and would answer the door, and gave the taxi my address: Panufer 92. What I didn't know was there is a Planufer 92, a Panufer A, a Panufer B, all the way to Panufer E, and each had about 8 floors of apartments.

By some grace of God, after breif visions of me sleeping on the street with my two suitcases, I stopped at a closed restaurant and was able to pick up an internet signal. I found the daughter's phone number in one of my e-mails, which I didn't realize I had.

An hour later, she met me and helped me up the five flights to my new apartment. Seeing the apartment was the reward for my my prior stress. It's in one of several ornate buildings, with high ceilings and big widows that overlook a channel. Apparently, I have a roommate, but I have only seen him for about 30 seconds since I've been here.

Now I'm sitting at my dining room table, watching the sunset above the treetops.

Lesson learned: Look at the arrival time carefully. It just may have (Aug. 5) after the arrival time.